


For the Art

by windfallswest



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the free space on my 2010 bingo card; I chose artist (canvas).</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Art

  
"Nnn," Iruka said uncertainly, watching Kakashi approach him, balancing several pots of paint in his arms.

Iruka was waiting naked in the middle of the roof over Kakashi's studio, shivering a little in the spring breeze. He squinted prudently up at the sky, which was clear of all but the wispiest of cirrus clouds. The blank canvas stretched out behind him expectantly.

Kakashi carefully set the dribble-stained paint pots on a slightly unsteady table dragged up here for this purpose and selected one, tugging a clean brush from the cluster jammed into his back pocket. His smile, as he circled Iruka appraisingly, was unnerving.

"This may have been a bad idea."

"Nonsense!" Kakashi came to a stop in front of him. It was like being looked through in reverse, like Kakashi couldn't see past the outward aesthetic possibilities to Iruka's misgivings. "It's for _art_! Now, hold still. I'll start _here_ , I think."

And Kakashi's soft-bristled brush descended, wet with dark blue paint. Iruka's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of the thick, cool substance trailing up one side of his back, curving from his hip to his shoulder. A second line bisected the sensitive skin at the back of one knee.

Kakashi swirled busily around him, his movements perceptible as small gusts on paint-damped patches of skin. Every once in a while, there was a muted clinking as Kakashi switched colours or refreshed a brush's load of paint. The brushstrokes were unpredictable, sometimes sudden, sometimes gentle, leaping from one area of Iruka's body to another at random. The only contrast was the dry pressure of Kakashi's fingers on the shrinking clear areas of his skin when he needed to brace himself.

The silence was strange—Kakashi was generally quite voluble when one of them was naked—but not uncomfortable; Iruka fell into something of a meditative trance.

After a surprisingly short interval, Kakashi stepped audibly back. Iruka opened his eyes.

"You should see yourself," Kakashi said, smiling in a self-satisfied manner. "Come on, come on."

Iruka was chivvied onto the canvas before he had the chance to get nervous again, or the paint had a chance to dry. He settled onto his back on the rough material, knees bent, while Kakashi stripped, retaining only the lube from his other back pocket.

Kakashi knelt between Iruka's thighs, and he was looking _at_ Iruka now. There was a devilish spark in his eyes, artistically mismatched.

Wasting no time, Kakashi squeezed the lube out on his fingers. Iruka barked a laugh.

"Purple, Kakashi?"

Kakashi responded by sliding a finger past the tight ring of muscular resistance and into Iruka's body. Iruka swore and pounded his fists down onto the canvas, leaving spots of yellow and red behind. Kakashi's finger was soon joined by another, scissoring and occasionally brushing the spot that made him jerk and smear his technicolour imprint.

"That's it," Kakashi encouraged the thrashing. He slipped in a third finger, curled deliberately to elicit a reprise.

Iruka was hard, had been since Kakashi started painting him, soft, delicate touches to his cock with the careful tips of brushes making him gasp. He was aching now, rocking unsubtly back onto Kakashi's thrusting fingers. The sun beat down on him from above.

"Anng," he growled in frustration. "C'mon, stop dicking around."

"Really?" Kakashi murmured. " 'Cause I kind of thought my dick was what you wanted."

"Kakashi, if you don't fuck me, and I mean _now_ , this canvas is going to record a much larger death than you were anticipating."

"Well." Kakashi removed his fingers and slicked himself.

"Jack-ass."

Kakashi smirked, being a bit more thorough stroking the lube on than Iruka really thought he needed to be. Sitting back on his heels, Iruka could see streaks of paint from his thighs, bright on pale skin.

Finally, Kakashi moved back in. One hand on Iruka's hip, the other guiding himself into position. Pressure of the hard, blunt head at his entrance, slowly broaching. Iruka moaned, long and drawn out as Kakashi's thrust. Painted palms gripped white shoulders as Kakashi's other hand set itself in parallel to its opposite.

The second thrust was faster, harder. Iruka voiced his appreciation, legs squeezing Kakashi in tight. Kakashi's cock was wide and hot, filling him each time it rammed home. Wide and hot, with impeccable aim. Iruka arched.

"On the canvas," Kakashi reminded, then gave a hypocritically hard thrust straight to his prostate.

Iruka raked his short nails down Kakashi's back and grunted. Kakashi's moan turned into a yelp, too late to do anything else when it became apparent that the flexing of Iruka's ass around his cock was a precursor to his flipping Kakashi over onto a fresh stretch of canvas. His shins would be leaving marks now, and there would be splotches where Kakashi's shoulders were pressed down, and interrupted streaks from Iruka's fingers on his back.

"God, Iruka."

Iruka raised himself, slowly, and slowly slid down again, relishing every slippery inch sliding inside as he impaled himself. He ignored Kakashi's moans and pleading, torturing them both. He loved this, Kakashi hot and hard inside him, deep as he could go.

Skilled hands tried to drive him faster, pinched his nipples and smudged his face as they traced his lips maddeningly, refusing to slip in, not that they'd have tasted very good. It was only when they drifted towards Iruka's erection that he took steps to immobilise them, compromising his angle and his control as he did so.

The sound of protest Kakashi gave then had little to do with art. The thrashing roll he accomplished was not very graceful, at any rate, and Iruka was left feeling dazed and empty until Kakashi finished spreading him out on his stomach, hands pinned above his head.

Panting harshly, Kakashi started fucking him again, fast and unrelenting. Iruka could only lie there and take it, the burn of pleasurepain washing over him, seeping paint onto Kakashi's canvas, his flush invisible under the increasingly mangled paint.

Kakashi loosened his grip to nudge Iruka's leg up. Iruka whined pleasure, bursts of white scrabbling around the edges of his vision with each snap of Kakashi's hips, which made him writhe but sent a small, too small, ohgod, jolt of friction to his trapped cock. He could imagine the rough fibres wrapped around his dick, scraping harshly until he was pulled over.

Iruka managed to get his elbows under him, then his knees, pushing back in time with Kakashi's rhythm. His cockhead scraped canvas, somehow white, clean canvas, with each thrust, nearly enough, so nearly. Kakashi was bent over him now, chest to back, almost as hopelessly paint-smeared now, one arm braced next to his and the other—yes, fuck, yes, oh.

Kakashi's hand jerked him fast and just hard enough, sending him bucking forward and back, gabbling nonsense and finally just Kakashi's name, over and over until he cried out nothing at all and sagged, spent. Kakashi's pace continued unabated, thrusts driving deeper and deeper, making his hands clench in the fabric beneath him.

A final barrage of thrusts and Kakashi came, Iruka crushed to him, nothing but paint between them. They collapsed together in a colourful mess; Iruka wriggled around until they were face to face. Their lips finally found each other, a weird-tasting kiss, but they stretched into it, rolling around on the canvas in the open air.

  
A few months later, they stood looking at it hanging on the wall in some museum gallery, both their faces smugly amused, tracing the green and orange and red and brown and blue smears and Iruka shivered while Kakashi whispered wicked memories into his ear. Iruka could trace the shape of his face up there, the splash of his come, maybe a faint dribble of that god-awful lube. Maybe not such a bad idea after all.  
  



End file.
